Just Different
by Dream Painter
Summary: Harry is already finding fourth year stressful, but then McGonagall informs him that as a champion, he has to have a date to the Ball. The problem is that Harry's not the least bit interested – in anyone – and he can't seem to find a way out of it.


**Just Different**

By Dream Painter

_**Summary:**__ Harry is already finding fourth year stressful, but then McGonagall informs him that as a champion, he has to have a date to the Ball. The problem is that Harry's not the least bit interested – in anyone – and he can't seem to find a way out of it._

0o0

"Potter," Professor McGonagall called as I started out of the classroom. I paused to look back at her and she beckoned me towards her. "A moment, if you would." I exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione. Ron looked as baffled as I was, but Hermione seemed like she wanted to ask what I had done this time. Shrugging a shoulder, I shook my head to tell them I had no idea what the professor wanted.

Trudging a bit reluctantly to the front of the room, I stopped in front of McGonagall's desk and glanced up at her. Was she going to ask about my progress on figuring out the clue for the second task? Quite honestly, I hadn't the slightest idea where to even start. Every time I tried to open the stupid egg, it would release that same godawful screeching as before.

"Professor?" I spoke up when she didn't say anything right away. I really hoped she wasn't going to ask about the egg.

"Have you a date, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked me.

"Ma'am?" I asked, a bit confused.

"For the Ball, Potter," she clarified. "Have you a date?"

I felt my heart sink. I'd really hoped I wouldn't be asked about that, either. "Erm… Well, actually, professor, I wasn't going to go…"

"Out of the question. It is tradition for the Triwizard champions and their dates to perform the opening dance at the Ball. You must attend, Potter, and you must have a date," the woman told me.

If my heart had been sinking before, it had fallen into my toes, by then. How was I supposed to get a date for the Ball when I hadn't the first clue how to even ask anyone to go with me? Who would I even ask? There was, well, _no one_. I had thought that if I had to go, going with Hermione might not be so bad, but she already had a date. I had jokingly suggested to Ron that we could go together, but he had practically choked at the idea.

"There's no need to look so downtrodden, Potter," McGonagall said, seeming a bit surprised by the expression I must have been wearing. "You're an attractive young man – you're the Boy-Who-Lived! There must be several students who would love to attend the Ball with you. You just have to ask one of them."

"Yes, Professor," I murmured, hanging my head, because that wasn't exactly the problem. Like she said, there had been a few people who had expressed interest in going with me – some more obvious than others. It was just that with my best friends out, there wasn't anyone I _wanted_ to ask. Hermione or Ron would understand it was all just for fun, but somebody else? Well, somebody else might misunderstand, and I really didn't want that. My life was complicated enough.

I found myself distracted for the rest of the day, wracking my brain for someone, anyone, I could ask to the Ball without giving them the wrong impression. It occurred to me that it shouldn't have been such a struggle for me. Everyone else seemed to be excited about going to the Ball and if they didn't have dates already, they at least had an idea of who they would like to go with. Me? I had no one. When asked who I wanted to go to the Ball with, my mind was blank. Even Ron could rattle off two or three girls he wouldn't mind going with (not that he was having any more luck finding a date than I was, but at least he had some idea).

My wandering thoughts caused me to fail spectacularly in Potions, earning me a detention and Snape's bitter tongue as he insulted my intelligence and took ten points from Gryffindor. Maybe there was just something wrong with me.

Detention that night was one of Snape's favorites – and one of my least: dissecting toads for potions ingredients. It was a messy, disgusting task, which is no doubt the reason the greasy git liked assigning it to me so often. At least it helped take my mind off the impossible task of finding a date. In fact, I almost would have preferred to be in detention than have to ask someone to go to the Ball with me, only to embarrass myself in front of the entire school and portions of two others.

And that's when I got the idea. I looked up from the toads to where Snape was grading papers at his desk. The Ball was little more than a week away. Furthermore, if I did something big enough, I knew the Potions Professor would not be above assigning me detention into Winter Hols – maybe even on Christmas, the night the Yule Ball would take place.

"Sir," I asked cautiously, looking back down as I continued my task. I needed to be sure it would even work before I risked getting in trouble with Snape, after all. "Say… Well, say someone did something in class the last day of term, like melt their cauldron, maybe. Would you – well, they'd get detention, wouldn't they? Like, a lot. Maybe, I dunno, an entire week's worth?" I hadn't meant for that last bit to become a question, but it just sort of came out that way.

Snape was staring at me. I could feel his dark eyes boring into the top of my head as I bent over the toad I was dissecting. He was probably trying to figure out whether I was planning some sort of mischief.

"Why, Potter?" the man questioned silkily. "Is there a reason that you wish to miss the Yule Ball?"

I couldn't help it; my head shot up in surprise. I had expected him to assume that I was afraid of missing it, or maybe even planning to make sure someone else missed it, like Malfoy, maybe. He wasn't supposed to figure out that _I_ wanted to miss it.

Snape smirked at me. "Don't tell me: the young lady you wanted to ask is already taken? Or perhaps she simply rejected you. Too embarrassed to show your face?"

"No, sir," I answered a bit stiffly, grabbing the next toad and cutting into it a little more carelessly than I was supposed to. "There aren't any girls I wanna ask."

I hadn't realized he had paused, or was even still invested in the conversation, until he spoke up again, voice almost hesitant. "A young man, then?" He almost sounded thoughtful.

My shoulders stiffened and I shook my head. I wasn't sure I liked when Snape sounded thoughtful. Maybe I was just too used to him being rude to me. I peered at him over my glasses to find that he was studying me, a long finger resting against his lips.

"So, there is no one with whom you wish to attend the Ball, Potter?" Snape asked, and I wondered why he even cared. "No one at all?"

I fidgeted uncomfortably and gave another shake of my head. "I… I just don't like anyone that way," I said, though I'm not sure why I felt the need to explain myself to Snape of all people. He continued to look at me, which became unnerving because it wasn't any expression I had come to associate with Snape. He was supposed to be sneering and cruel and condescending towards me, not… whatever that look he was wearing now. Contemplative, maybe.

Jerking my gaze back down to my table, I worked faster, even more eager to get my detention over and done with so I could escape. Even Snape thought it was weird that I didn't like anyone. It's not like I intentionally decided I wasn't going to be attracted to anybody. It just happened, like everything else in my life. Why couldn't I just be normal, for once? "I dunno what's wrong me."

I hadn't realized I had mumbled that last part or that I had even spoken loud enough for the old dungeon bat to hear me until he had suddenly pushed back his chair and billowed over to where I was working.

"Potter," Snape said, and his tone was firm, but not in a way I was used to. Hesitantly, I looked up to meet his dark gaze. "There is nothing wrong with you."

"But I… _Everyone_ else…" I began.

"I was unaware that you were _everyone_ else, Potter," the Potions Master drawled before I could continue. "It would be a travesty if you were. Just because you are not like all the rest of your hormone-crazed, dunderheaded peers, does not mean that there is something the matter with you. Being _different_ does not make you _abnormal_. Have I made myself clear?"

I stared at him, half-shocked that he was able to pinpoint what I was feeling so accurately and half-amazed that he had just said the very thing I hadn't known that I needed to hear.

"Potter?" Snape prompted when I gave no reply.

"Yes, Professor," I answered quietly.

"Good, because it is obvious that the only thing wrong with you, Potter, is your troubling capacity to get yourself into mischief."

I sputtered in protest. Most of the trouble I got into wasn't even my fault!

"Unfortunately, it is unlikely that I will be able to help you out of your predicament, as even if I were to assign you a detention on Christmas, your Head of House and the Headmaster would likely override my authority so you could still attend the Ball," he continued. "It is tradition, after all, for the champions of the Tournament to start the first dance. I suggest you find a companion willing to accompany you for this endeavor."

My head was bowed again, this time in defeat. I had really been hopeful that I had discovered a way out of the whole thing. "Yes, sir," I murmured.

Snape returned to his desk. "Back to work, Potter. If you keep dawdling, you won't be done with your task before curfew. It would be a pity for Filch to find you lurking about the halls when you're meant to be in your common room," he said a bit airily before adding darkly, "And if you melt your cauldron in my class on Friday, you will find the consequences most unpleasant, Potter."

I scowled down at the toad I just cut open. Apparently, he'd returned to being the greasy git, too. Shooting the man a quick glance, I thought that even that was okay, just then. After all, for all his faults, at least Snape always meant what he said. So, if he said there was nothing wrong with me, well, I was inclined to believe him – even if he was still my least favorite professor.

The days seemed to pass too quickly. Before I knew it, term was over, the following week with it, and I still hadn't secured a date for the Ball. Ron had attempted to ask Fleur Delacour, only to be shot down. (Well, he sorta ran away before she could answer, but it ended up the same.) Even Hermione had started to get after me to ask someone, but I just couldn't. I didn't want to attend, let alone have a date. Maybe if I wasn't a champion and a date wasn't required, I might have liked to go, but as far as I could tell, the night was going to be nothing but humiliation for me. I didn't see why I had to go and drag someone into it with me.

Christmas morning came and for the first time since first year, I absolutely dreaded the holiday. Ron had finally found a last minute date, but I was still stuck. It wasn't fair. Wasn't it bad enough that I had to be in the Tournament? Why did I have to go to the stupid Ball, as well?

I was grouchily pushing my food around my plate at breakfast, mumbling to Hermione that I was fine when she asked and insisting that I really didn't want her to help me find a date. I probably should have taken her up on the offer, but to be quite honest, my stubbornness in the matter was probably a last-ditch show of defiance in the face of something I really did not want to do.

McGonagall came to stand behind me and I suppressed a sigh as I turned to look at her. "I see you have already received the news, Mr. Potter," she said grimly. Her tone sounded a little… apologetic? "I haven't the foggiest idea what you must have done to have angered Professor Snape, Potter, but he absolutely refuses to let you out of your detention tonight, the Tournament traditions be hanged. I did try to get him to reschedule, but he would not be persuaded. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you will have to miss the Ball, after all. I do hope your date won't be too disappointed."

For my part, I was doing my best to not look happy about this turn of events. I jabbed my fork into my leg beneath the table and it seemed to help a bit. I couldn't believe it, though – Snape had actually gotten me out of going to the Yule Ball!

"That's all right, Professor," I told her. I could feel Ron and Hermione staring at me, no doubt confused as to why I hadn't mentioned that I had a detention with Snape. "I know you did your best. Thanks, anyway."

"You're welcome, Potter," she said. "Just… do try not to stay on his good side from here on out."

"Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall continued up to the Head Table and I shot a glance at Snape, which he ignored. Turning back to my breakfast, I suddenly felt hungry again.

"Rotten luck, mate," Ron said.

"Isn't it?" I replied. I sounded too chipper even to my own ears.

"Harry," Hermione questioned suspiciously, "what did Professor Snape give you a detention for?"

My face cracked into a small grin that made the other two share a concerned look. "I don't even care," I answered.

The rest of the day passed in a pleasant blur, my mood having picked up considerably now that I didn't have to attend the Yule Ball and have a date and make a fool of myself trying to dance in front of everyone. Ron thought I was being positively barmy, but I think Hermione understood a bit. Or at least, she thought she understood, which was nearly as good. Someday, I would explain it to them, but at the moment, I was just happy I didn't have to worry about it.

That evening, as everyone else was getting ready, I grabbed my book bag and headed down to the dungeons. I don't think I had ever walked down there in such a good mood, before. Knocking at the door to the Potions classroom, I entered when Snape beckoned me inside. I didn't even care what he had me do – he'd gotten me out of the _Ball_.

"You look far too cheerful for attending a detention, Potter," Snape drawled at me, looking up from a potion he was brewing at one of the tables. "Do try to compose yourself."

"Sorry, sir," I said, still fighting a relieved smile off my face. "I just… Thank you. For doing this so I don't have to go."

The man rolled his eyes. "There is no need to thank me, Potter, as you have given me a much needed excuse to get out of attending the… _festivities,_ myself," he stated dryly. "Now, take a seat and work on your homework or read a quidditch magazine. I'm busy."

Unable to stop myself from shooting the man a grin – which made Snape roll his eyes again – I took a seat and pulled out my Transfiguration essay. Might as well get the hard stuff out of the way first, right?

I guess some people would think I'm crazy, preferring to spend my evening with the Greasy Git of the Dungeons rather than having to ask someone to attend a fancy ball with me. It was just easier that way for me, and Snape was kind of okay that night. He just worked on a potion and let me do my own thing.

So, maybe it's not what everyone else would have liked to do. I was different – I _am_ different, and that's okay, because there is nothing wrong with me.

0o0

End.


End file.
